Give Me Something
by ForeverSmiling
Summary: No one knows why Sherlock is so emotionless.  He claims he is a sociopath, but really he is hiding a dark secret.  Will anyone be able to help him before it's too late?  Rated T for some sensitive subjects.  No slash.
1. Fire

I feel as though if I were to stick my hand into the fireplace, nothing would happen. In a sense, I have already done so. The stove isn't as good as real fire, but it will have to do. As a matter of fact, it's not even hot. It's almost as if instead of heat, I feel cold. I can't cry anymore, there is nothing left.

I look into the fireplace constantly, just trying to see some form of light. All I can see is blackness. Nothing I look at gives any form of light to me, not the sun, the moon, the stars, the fire, or even the lights illuminating my flat. There is nothing, just empty darkness.

I can't even begin to understand how or why I feel this way. It just started to happen and I didn't know how to respond, so I ignored it. I guess I just believed it would go away, like most of my emotions do. It didn't, it feels worse than ever. My hand over that stove gives me my only sense of release. I am not stupid enough to place my hand directly on it, it is far too noticeable. I wave my hand over the top and let the burning sensation sink in. I'll only place my skin directly on the stove when my days are exceptionally dreadful. When I do, I always use my wrist instead of my hand so I know I can hide it. Even still, I feel like my skin isn't even peeling.

I want to overcome this. I want fire to represent light once again and not darkness. There is no part of me that knows where to start though. I can't get through one day without hurting myself somehow and if I suddenly stop, who knows what I might do? I really do want to change, but I have no idea how it could possibly happen.

None of them will listen to my point of view on anything, it's a wonder I put up with them at all. They all turn against me every chance they get, especially Mycroft. I don't know if I will ever forgive him. He has only made everything worse than before. Not a day goes by where I don't think about what he has done. John just sees everything I do as cruel and unkind. Maybe it is, but that is just how I am. It's what I have become.

They don't know what it's like to live with this, to have something like this in your mind for years on end with no means of escape besides causing yourself physical and emotional harm. I have never sought help because I already know that there is no point, I am well beyond the point of a lost cause. Besides, I refuse to be seen as weak.

Other than Mycroft, no one among my peers knows what's been going on. I plan to keep it that way. No one, not Lestrade, Sally, Anderson, not even John knows what is going on inside of my head. They're all so thick, aren't they? I don't blame them.

I don't want them to know, anyway. They will only see me as weak and I need to maintain my image of being better than all of them. Mycroft is smart enough not to mention it to them; thankfully he respects me enough to give me that favor. They can never know, I will never be able to see any of them again.

Nevertheless, they are all involved now. They all unintentionally influence my mood for the day, most of the time it ends up poorly. Any case I am on usually distracts me long enough until something happens that sends everything crashing down. They are caught in the middle and I am approaching the point of no return.

Despite everything, one thing is clear. I will overcome.


	2. Murder

_Flashback – Five years ago._

I burst in the door after a long and stressful day at Scotland Yard. It is so frustrating how I am able to solve everything at first glance and no one will believe me. Especially Sally and Anderson, they make everything I do so much harder. I know I shouldn't care what they think, but everything they say just haunts me. I need to feel better somehow.

I go into the kitchen and approach the stove. I take off my coat and scarf and place it on the chair. As I turn the dial to the stove, I can hear the clicking that follows. It is music to my ears; it is a sweet reminder that I am one step closer to release. My hand waves over the burner, I can feel the burn on my hand. It's not enough, I need to feel more. I pull my hand away and remove my jacket; I pull up my shirt sleeve to reveal my bare wrist. I am about to make direct contact with the burning metal when I suddenly hear the door burst open.

Several men run in and tackle me to the ground, despite my screaming, they don't let go. I thrash wildly, throwing any punch or kick I could, most of them blindly and without a target. Eventually, I am subdued and my arms and legs are pinned down. That doesn't stop my screaming though. I demand to know what is going on and who is behind this. They don't answer me but I am able to figure it out for myself once I hear a familiar voice.

"Hello, brother."

_Back to the present_

"Sherlock, Lestrade has another case for us if you want it."

I look at him from the couch.

"Sure, if it's not boring. Did he describe it?"

"No, he told us to come and look at the body. If you want to go, I have the address."

"Fine, call a cab. I'll be there in a minute."

He agrees and exits the flat. Another case at last, usually I am excited for something like this, but I just don't care anymore. All of these cases are the same. Someone dies, they call me, I figure out how they died and who did it, I go home. Can't Lestrade solve any of his own murders? They all come running to me with every little crime. I can't help but wonder, are they really incapable of solving crimes? Do they actually need me to help them? Are they just lazy? Are they trying to just get rid of me? Oh well, I guess it's all the same.

I don't have time to think about this now. I have a long day ahead of me. Hopefully all will go well. I hop off the couch, put my jacket on, grab my coat, and leave. John is waiting for me by the cab.

"I thought you would never show up."

I simply smile and wordlessly get in the cab. John tells the cabbie where to go and we set off. It takes only 10 minutes and we arrive at the crime scene. This is a bit different; we are at a movie theater. Sally sees our arrival and leads us to the back of the building.

"What are the facts?"

"A woman, early thirties, single stab wound to the abdomen."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Well freak, we don't know anything about her and we need you to question her son."

"Her son?"

"Yeah, he is with Lestrade. He won't talk to any of us."

I walk over to Lestrade and with him is a small child. He is shaking and sitting against the brick wall. I whisper to John to take a look at the body while I talk to him. He goes over to where her body is covered and I kneel down to the boy's level.

"Hello, would you mind answering some questions?"

"Are you a policeman? My mommy told me to stay away from policemen."

"No I'm not, you can trust me. What's your name?"

He looks at me for a few seconds before answering.

"Andrew. What's your name?"

"Sherlock. How old are you?"

"Six. How about you?"

"I'm 35, I'm pretty old." I say with a smile, trying to calm him down. He gives a slight chuckle. "Andrew, would you mind telling me what happened?"

He frowns once more.

"My mommy took me to see a movie and after it was over she took me behind here and told me to hide in the bush over there. When I did, she waited for a little while and this man came over and started handing something to her and she pulled out something from her pocket. It looked like a big handful of money and the man screamed that he wanted it."

He is clearly becoming very uncomfortable; he starts shaking even more and can barely finish his story through his sobs.

"She refused to give him the money and he pulled out something sharp-looking and hit her with it. She fell down and he grabbed the money and ran away. After he was gone I ran out and tried to wake mommy up, but she wouldn't get up. I called for help and everyone here showed up."

"Where is your dad?"

"Daddy is in Heaven."

"Thank you Andrew, you have been a big help. We will get you all the help you can get. By the way, policemen are not bad people. My friend over there is a policeman and he will keep you safe."

I reach my hand out to help him up and he reluctantly takes it. I lead him over to Lestrade and instruct him to see if he has any family.

"What can you tell me about her?"

"I'll tell you later, not in front of him."

I go over to John, who has just finished looking at the body.

"What do you think?" I ask.

"It's dreadful. She was so young, what happened with the kid?"

"She was killed in a robbery, she was buying drugs from him and she took out a little too much money. He was in the bush the whole time. Someone must have seen the man running down the street and called the police."

"Are you going to look at the body?"

I walk over to her and bent down to get a good look at everything. After a minute or two, I lean back up.

"The murderer is left handed, about 5'8", wears a size 10 shoe, and used a large pocket knife."

"So what do we do now?"

"For now we have to wait for the police report and we have to see if her son can remember any important information, like what the man looked like. We can't ask him now though, he is in shock. We will have to wait until tomorrow."

I don't even wait for him to respond. I turn and leave with him trailing not too far behind. It's time for another case. Hopefully this will distract me for a little while.


	3. Innocent

_Flashback_

I manage to look up at Mycroft from the grip of him henchmen.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?"

"I'm putting an end to this. You have been hurting yourself for far too long. One day you will understand."

I start to struggle even more underneath their grip. There is nothing I want more right now than to feel the heat on my skin. How dare he try and take that away from me!

"What are you going to do?"

"For now, you'll be under constant surveillance until I think you may be left alone. If I catch you doing anything to yourself, I shall have you arrested and I will phone Lestrade and tell him everything. You will no longer be able to solve cases for him."

I instinctively started screaming at the top of my lungs. I don't know what I thought would happen; I just wanted to get my frustration out. Through my screaming and struggling, Mycroft managed to tell his men to let go of me. Once I was helped to my feet, I grabbed Mycroft by the arm and pulled him out of the kitchen to speak to him privately.

"Mycroft, this has nothing to do with you!"

He looked at me very seriously.

"Sherlock, you're my brother, it has everything to do with me! Don't test my patience."

"Do you really think you're helping me by having your men break into my flat and tackle me to the ground while you threaten me? Just do me a favor and get out of my life."

He paused for a few seconds before responding.

"You're not half the man you used to be. Whatever happened to the days where no one could wipe that smile off your face?"

"That man doesn't exist anymore. Just leave."

He stared at me again for a little while before turning to his men in the kitchen and asking them to leave. Once they were out, he looked at me one more time before he followed them out.

"Have it your way. From this point on, I don't care what happens to you."

_Back to the present_

John and I are in the flat. John is typing on his laptop and I am just lying on the couch, as usual. I am thinking of everything Andrew said to me about what happened. It's obvious what the nature of the crime was, but we just need to know what the murderer looks like. Suddenly, Lestrade bursts through the door.

"Sherlock, the kid wants to talk to you."

"Why? What's going on?"

"He says he knows what the man looks like."

John and I exchange glances and spring up from our seats.

"We'll be there as soon as we can."

With that, Lestrade left. After I saw him leave in his police car, we left as well and called a cab to Scotland Yard. Once we get there, Andrew is sitting in Lestrade's office. I tell him to leave and it is just me, Andrew, and John.

"Sherlock, who is that man?" He points to John.

"This is John; he is a friend of mine. It's alright you can trust him. What does the man look like, Andrew?"

"He has black hair and light skin."

"Is there anything else? Any marks on him? Did he walk in a strange way?"

He nodded his head. "He has a scar under his eye."

"Thank you again, Andrew. I think that is all we need."

John and I begin to leave when we hear Andrew's voice behind us.

"Sherlock, I'm scared."

"Why would you have to be scared?"

"I'm staying with my aunt and I've been hearing a lot of scary noises. I'm scared he might find me."

I go back over to Andrew and get down to his level.

"No one is going to hurt you. I'll keep you safe."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

After this, we leave. Maybe I shouldn't have promised, but it's the best I can do for now. I go to Lestrade and give him the description and he says he will keep an eye out. John and I take a cab back to the flat. Once inside, I start pacing around the room. I don't even know where to start with this case. We have a description, the weapon used, and how the crime was committed. How is it possible that I don't have a clue who the murderer is?

The frustration of not knowing what to do next gets me so angry that I end up throwing everything off of the kitchen table. This makes John come running in.

"Sherlock, what's gotten into you?" He shouts at me.

"I can't stand just waiting for something to happen!"

"Well for right now, that's the best we can do! Don't worry, Sherlock, we'll solve this like we always do."

"Fine, I'll just wait."

After about an hour, John says he has to go to the supermarket and leaves. I watch him leave my sight through the window and I run into the kitchen. I rip off my jacket as quickly as I can and roll up my sleeve while also turning on the stove. I waste no time and push my hand on the burner as hard as I can. I don't scream, I simply absorb the wonderful feeling of the pain searing through my skin. I don't keep it on for very long, maybe about a minute. That minute was long enough for my skin to break completely though. That's fine with me, I'm glad I can finally see that this does something to me.

I make sure to cover my arm properly before John gets back. Once he does, I just sit on the couch while he puts the groceries away. Two days later, we still haven't heard from Lestrade. I am considering calling him and getting an update when my phone rings and I see his name on the caller ID.

"Lestrade, is there any news?"

"Sherlock, Andrew is dead."


	4. Caught

I can't speak, I am in utter shock. Lestrade doesn't say anything either, he probably knows that I am taking everything in.

"What do you mean he's dead?"

"His aunt came to the yard today, crying hysterically. I quickly put her in my office to find out what happened and she said that she found Andrew in his room, strangled to death, and the window open."

"I'm on my way."

I tell John what happened and he follows me to Scotland Yard. Once we get there we go immediately into Lestrade's office.

"Did you look at the crime scene?" I say.

"Yes, but we hardly touched anything. Would you like to go? Donovan is still there."

"Of course, let's go."

We leave Scotland Yard as quickly as we got there and drove over to the crime scene. I was deep in thought as we drove, so I don't know how long it takes to arrive. Once we get there, Sally greets us and leads us inside a small flat. Andrew's aunt was being comforted on the sofa and we are brought into the young boy's bedroom.

I don't want to admit it, but it's hard for me to look. The sight of the lifeless child in front of me makes me sick. I can hear John say how horrible it is and how he may have to step out. The child lay in front of me, on his bed, his tongue swollen and bruises on his neck. He had definitely been strangled. I searched as hard as I could for fingerprints, but he had used gloves. Why would the murderer go after Andrew? It must have been because he told me about him.

"John, I need to go back to the flat. Don't follow me."

"What about the case?"

I didn't give him a chance to answer. I stormed out of the house and hailed a cab back to Baker Street. Once I am inside, I go through my normal routine of taking off my shirt while turning the stove on. I waste no time pressing my arm on the burner as hard as I can.

I'm sick of this. Every day it's the same old thing and they all expect me to do all the work. Nothing feels real anymore. I promised Andrew I wouldn't let anything bad happen to him! I let him down! He was probably looking into the eyes of his killer, wondering why I wasn't there protecting him. Mycroft was right; I am not half the man I used to be. I can't help it though, I want to feel alive. People think I don't feel any emotion, when really, I feel every emotion.

I lose track of how log my arm is on the burner. Next thing I know, I can hear John scream and I feel myself being thrown on the ground.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" There is anger in his voice.

"Leave me alone! This is none of your business!"

He does not answer; he gets up and storms into his bedroom. I also stand up and go to the sitting room. John comes back out a few minutes later with his first aid kit and orders me to sit down. I don't bother arguing and sit on the couch. He opens the first aid kit and pulls out a small bottle of peroxide and a pack of gauze. He grabs my arm and dabs the peroxide on my burnt arm with a cotton ball. It takes quite a bit of effort to not make any noise due to the stinging sensation. John doesn't seem to care though, he adds a bit more, applies some cream, and wraps the gauze around it. After which he puts his medical kit back into his room and comes back in, very serious. He remains standing and leans on the easy chair.

"Why?" He asks.

"Why, what?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" His voice rises at this.

"You wouldn't understand." I say calmly.

"Try me."

"I said you wouldn't understand!" My voice is no longer calm.

"How long have you been doing this, then?"

I am slightly hesitant. "I've been doing this for a few years."

He looks at me in a combination of shock and disgust.

"What did you expect to gain from this?" He shouts at me. I cannot contain my rage any longer.

"I promised him, John! I promised him I wouldn't let any harm come to him and look what happened! A six year old child is dead because of me! What do you expect me to do?"

"Sherlock, it's not your fault he's dead!"

"I take the case, I get a description of the man from him, as well as a detailed account of what happened, and now he's dead because the murderer got to him. Tell me how it's not my fault!"

He was silent. I could tell that he wanted to say something reassuring, but he was at a loss for words. I wait for a few seconds before walking away. I grab my coat and tell him I'm going for a walk. He doesn't answer, nor does he try to stop me.

I walk for a few blocks, looking at everyone around me. They are all the same. They walk to work, walk with their families, or walk to the store. None of them have any purpose besides just being alive. It makes me wonder though, how many people could be going through something similar? The thought is reassuring, but not likely. I go for a few more blocks when I hear a whisper from behind me. I turn around, but there is no one there. I am about to turn back when I hear it again, coming from the alley a few steps back.

I cautiously walk over and peer inside. A man, who is barely noticeable, emerges from the darkness.

"If you want to know about your case, follow me."

I don't respond. I look on both sides of me to make sure no one is looking. Then I proceed into the blackness of the alley, to be covered by the shadows. No turning back.


	5. Confrontation

I am led to the very back of the alley, keeping my guard up at all times. The unidentified man turns to face me with a devious smile on his face.

"I knew I wouldn't have to worry about you attacking me from behind."

"Didn't you?"

"Not at all, I know you all too well. I've been following you for a few months now."

"Really?" I said carelessly. "What do you know?"

"For starters, I know all about what you do to yourself."

I looked up at him quickly, but I almost immediately look back down. He noticed my reaction and snickered.

"Don't try to hide it. It's written all over your face."

How could he possibly know this? I thought I was doing a good job of concealing it. There is something about this man that looks familiar.

"That's enough. What about the case?"

"Oh that's right, I almost forgot. You see, since I've been following you, I really wanted a chance to get up close and personal with you. I figured, what better way than to commit a crime and watch you squirm for the answers."

He steps forward to reveal a scar under his right eye. The same one Andrew told me about. I can feel my rage begin to rise inside of me. I clench my fists as hard as I can while staring him down. He simply laughs.

"Getting a bit angry, are we?"

"You killed him."

"I had to."

I grab him by his coat and shove him as hard as I can against the brick wall.

"He was six years old! You had to kill a six year old little boy? Why?"

"He interfered. I knew he was behind the bush the whole time. It was all part of the fun. I was just waiting for the right excuse to go after him and giving you a description of me was all it took."

"I've seen a lot of criminals, but I will never understand someone like you."

"The fun is just beginning." I am still holding him against the wall when he pulls out a knife and waves it in my face.

"Do you think I'm scared? Go ahead, use it on me."

"You're making this so easy."

I step back and spread my arms wide. I yell as loud as I possibly can.

"What are you waiting for? Stab me like you stabbed that little boy's mother! Strangle me like you strangled the life out of a six year old child for the sake of a sick game!"

I don't know if he was looking for me or if the sound of my voice alerted him of my presence, but I heard a very familiar voice toward the end of the alley. I turned to see who it was just as the man charged toward me with the knife. He meant to get my heart, but since I managed to turn, he got me in the shoulder. I still fall down as the man with the knife falls down as well. The only difference between me and him is that he was shot.

I instinctively grab my shoulder and look up to see Mycroft looking down at me.

"I knew you would get yourself into trouble if I didn't intervene."

I don't want to look at him. There is nothing more humiliating to me than having your brother save you. As harsh as it may seem, I can only manage to say one thing to him.

"I thought you didn't care anymore. I preferred it that way."

He shakes his head and walks away. Lestrade checks on me and instructs the paramedics to carefully lift me onto the gurney. I stand up and insist that I can just climb in the back, and we head off to the hospital.

* * *

><p>A couple hours and a few stitches later, and I am sitting in my hospital room searching for something to do. I am even bored after getting stabbed. Mycroft, Lestrade, and John all come into the room together. We are silent for a few seconds before Mycroft speaks up.<p>

"The doctor saw your arm when he made the stitches. He wants to put you in the psychiatric ward."

"What did you say?"

"I told him that it was not necessary. I know you and you will not last in there. It took quite a bit of time, but I assured them you were in good hands."

Lestrade decides to say something.

"Sherlock, they both told me in the hallway what the situation was. I thought about it for a while and I decided that it would be best if you withheld on working with Scotland Yard for a few weeks while you recover."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised his hand to stop me.

"I'm not going to change my mind. I think you need some time apart from work while you get yourself sorted."

John spoke up at this.

"I've taken an extended vacation at work so I could look after you. I don't know why you do this, but I am going to do everything I can to help you."

"Why are any of you even bothering to help? I've done nothing good for any of you."

"We're doing this because no one should have to go through this." John said.

I paused for a moment, just thinking of something to say.

"I can't believe we've gone this long without mentioning the fact that someone stabbed me."


	6. Death

We all laugh for a little while longer. It makes me think that maybe there is hope after all. The doctor walks in the room, with a slightly serious look on his face.

"I see you're feeling better. I just came to let you know that the man who stabbed you was shot by police but he survived. He is in critical condition, but we will make sure to keep him away from your room."

Everyone stops right where they are. No one moves, no one talks, and you can barely hear anyone breathing. The doctor turns around to leave but I stop him to say something.

"Is he awake?"

"He has not spoken a word, but he is responsive."

"I want to see him." All eyes fall on me. I know what they are all thinking, they all either think it's stupid, reckless, or they could just be confused. John speaks up before the doctor can answer.

"Are you serious? What do you possibly have to say to him?"

"It's complicated."

"Well, I'm going with you."

"No you're not. I have to do this on my own."

The other two are silent, but the doctor finally speaks up.

"Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes I'm sure. Am I able to?"

"I'll make sure everything is okay. Make sure you're able to get up and move around while I'm away."

Once he leaves the room, I immediately get up slowly. I know he is breaking every rule imaginable letting me go to his room, so I am very grateful. The other three are all trying to convince me not to go there, but I do a pretty good job ignoring all of them. I close the curtain around my bed and get changed from the hospital gown I was wearing to my regular clothes. If I am going to visit this man discreetly, I need to make sure I don't look like a patient.

I am not going to lie; it is painful putting on my shirt and coat. Especially since I have fresh gauze on my arm and I recently just had stitches on my shoulder. I am able to withdraw from the pain long enough to get fully dressed. When I pull back the curtain, the doctor is back in the room.

"If you're ready, you can go in."

I tell all of them to wait for me while I follow to doctor to the patient's room. He tells me not to be too long, I agree and proceed inside. When he sees me, he blinks faster and opens his mouth to speak.

"I never thought I'd see you again, I was sure I had you." Instead of answering him, I just walk toward his bedside. The steady beeping of the heart monitor is in the background.

"Where did you get shot?" I asked him. His weak state prolonged his answers, but that was the last thing on my mind.

"They told me that I was shot in my lower abdomen. Enough of this small talk, why are you really here?"

"I want to remember what you say, right now. I want to know why."

"Why for what?"

"I want to know why you stalked me, why you murdered that woman, and why you murdered her son. I want real answers this time; I don't want to hear anything about a game. This should have been an easy case for me, but you kept it going. I want to know why."

I wasn't expecting a response to quickly, it's almost as if he knew I was going to ask that question.

"I needed to prove something to you."

"Prove what to me?"

"I needed to prove that you were just as vulnerable as the rest of us. When I followed you, I could see right through you. You act as if these cases don't bother you and I know for a fact they do. You wouldn't have that gauze on your arm if they didn't. I needed to prove that you knew exactly why you started feeling depressed all the time."

In my rage, I grab him while he is on the bed. It makes him wince in pain and I don't even blink.

"You needed to murder a six year old child in order to prove that to me?" I am surprised that no doctors or nurses ran in due to how loud I was screaming at him. The shock and pain of me grabbing onto him made him react and he started to shake.

I stepped back a few steps and watched in horror as this man was having a seizure right before my eyes. I am no medical man; I don't know what made him go into a seizure. However, my facial expression goes from horrified to quite normal and I continue to watch. The heart monitor starts beeping wildly. I lean forward, smirk, and look him straight in the eye.

"I win."

The monitor flat lines, several nurses and the doctor from before run in to see what happened. I brush past them and walk back toward my room. After everything I have just seen, I can't help but smile at the ending of it all. I roll up my sleeve to look at the gauze on my arm, content that it will be the last time I ever see a burn.

Although, as I walk down the hall I can't help but wonder to myself, am I the sociopath I claim to be or the empathic person I am accused of being?

* * *

><p><strong>The end.<strong>

**A/N: I know this is not a very long story, but I honestly didn't know where else to go so I just wanted to end it before I started spiraling in different directions. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed it and please send me your final thoughts. :)**


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